


Sugar, I'm Being Cockblocked

by CharlieDemandsCoffee



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Bands, Brief Hetero fantasies, F/M, Fatherhood, Longing, M/M, Masturbation, Post Hiatus, Save Rock and Roll Tour, Slow Burn, The prompt was really just a jumping off point, Touring, this turned out more serious than i intended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-07 04:42:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11051568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieDemandsCoffee/pseuds/CharlieDemandsCoffee
Summary: Pete's finally recovering from a recent split up, the band is back and they're better than ever, the tour is booming.But Pete can't figure out why Patrick always seems to be around when Pete's trying to get laid.





	1. Reunited Twice Over

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own FOB, try as I might over the years. I mean no disrespect to the real people mentioned here. (Yes, I'm an oldie and still put disclaimers. I cover my ass.) 
> 
> Title is a reference to "Oh, don't mind me, I'm watching you two from the closet." You know the song.  
> Thank you to everyone who's been supporting my comeback to writing fics!

Pete's on his knees on the bed, about to reach behind him to take off his shirt so he can avoid overheating while he's got this beautiful woman laying semi-naked in front of him, when the door to his bunk bedroom blasts open. 

The girl screams and scrambles to cover herself while Pete rears up, coming face to face with a less-stunned-than-he-should-be Patrick. 

"Again, man?" Pete asks wearily. 

Patrick hesistates, then quickly apologizes, slamming the door behind him. 

This has been going on for weeks now.

It started fairly minorly, Patrick knocking on the bathroom door when Pete was trying to jerk off, accidentally walking in on him while he was getting dressed.

But soon Pete started to wonder if Patrick had a "Pete Is Naked" alert on his phone because every damn time Pete is in a compromising position, in bursts Patrick like the bus is on fire. 

And usually it's nothing that can't wait. Patrick will want a revision on some lyrics, or to ask Pete where the next venue is (and he can ask Andy or Joe that one. Pete's not the only other one in this band.)

He's not sure what's gotten into the guy, but he's starting to revert to his sneaky teenage methods of getting off, and he's getting tired of it. 

They're all sitting there the next day, watching Joe watch a staticky Die Hard in the lounge, and Patrick has his headphones on. He's doodling down some notes once in a while, his head bobbing slightly to his music. He and Andy meet each other's gaze, Andy clutching his mug of tea. They echo smiles across the bus at each other.

The air is a little tense still, but there's an underlying joy Pete's starting to feel more and more. Every lyric, every note, every show they play together feels like flirting with an old flame.

Pete swallows, watching the raindrops chase each other across the window pane.

It's been cold and stormy every day leaving Oregon. Pete kind of likes it. He's always found the rain calming. He needs calm right now.

His life has been a whirlwind since the guys decided to get back together. About a week after that, he had come into his living room, about to pack up and head to the studio and plan the tour, and found Meagan sitting on the couch, stony-faced.

She didn't want to be the dutiful girlfriend, she explained, waiting for Pete every few months until he came back. She didn't understand why he hadn't asked her to marry him yet.

Pete didn't have an answer for her. He told her it was because his marriage with Ashlee had been a bust, that he didn't want to go through the ugliness of divorce again. But a little voice in Pete's head told him that was only part of it.

He had an addiction to keeping his options open. Even looking around, at this house, his two beautiful sons, the life they'd built together, there was a part of him still reaching out to somewhere else. 

Or someone else. The shame burned like acid in his stomach. He hated always feeling like he was searching for something better. His compass was broken, always searching for a North he didn't know about. 

She didn't think the band was good for him, considering what had happened to him the last time they were touring. He knew she had a point there, but he feared what would happen if he didn't at least try to give it a chance.

Pete understood why she was concerned, and had tried to assure her that he wouldn't be gone long, that he needed the band, that he was happy.

In the end, she had grabbed his hand and asked him to choose: her, or the band.

And that wasn't fair because it had never been a choice. She knew how much the music meant to him. And how much she meant.

He knew though, how much she meant in comparison.

Choosing her also meant choosing his kids, and he was angry she was asking him to choose that. Using the last leverage she had to keep him here. 

Pete felt like an asshole when he couldn't answer, just picked up his bag, watching tears slide down her face, making tracks across her makeup.

There was a time, not so long ago, that he would have gotten angry, raised hell, made his kids cry with the fight he wanted to have with her. But he couldn't anymore. The past few years had used up all his fuel.

"I'll be here. With the kids," she had said.

Pete's hackles raised at her tone, paternal instinct flooding his system. Screw her if she thought she was taking his sons from him. He'd make it work, he'd stay with them whenever he was back.

And if the worst happened, and the band wasn't an option anymore, he knew he could make it as a single parent. He'd done it before. But he also knew he couldn't live without this band. 

He kissed the boys goodbye in their beds, asking her to please, please wait, just for a little while with them, and he'd be back to pick up his things, if that's what she wanted.

He had almost heard the click-snap of her heart closing to him as he loaded up the van parked outside. 

Joe banging on the top of the TV brings him back to the road. 

"Shitty reception out here," he comments, flicking hair out of his face as he flops back down. 

Pete grunts in response, rubbing his palms down his thighs. He misses his sons, misses watching them play together. He and Meagan had come to an arrangement once the anger had simmered down: she would take the kids while he was on tour, and he'd have them the rest of the time. Despite some of the ugly things she'd said, she was, at her heart, a good person. She didn't want to deny him his children, after all.

He couldn't even fault her for how she'd acted. He wasn't exactly the picture of innocence as far as that went. And even though he privately thought of Bronx as his alone, she was still Saint's mother. He wanted him to see her.

He wasn't even really sad or angry anymore. He and Meagan had always gotten along, so they fell back on that, to make it easier for the boys. They'd even started talking civilly to each other now. Progress. 

Andy says they're almost to Redding now. The next show is in Sacramento. Pete leans back, closes his eyes, chasing sleep to the sound of burning pavement. 


	2. Sweet Sacramento

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's five minutes till showtime, and Pete really needs just two, okay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who kudoed and commented!!

Pete's still a little sticky from unloading the van with the guys, but the cool-tiled wall at his back is really helping. The upstairs venue bathroom had been blocked off for them, thank God.

Pete had claimed the last stall as soon as soundcheck was over. It smelled strongly of urinal cake and bleach, but he didn't care.  

He probably shouldn't be using his last spare minutes before they call show to jerk off, but honestly, if this doesn't put him in his zen zone, nothing will.

It's like Patrick's Britney Spears vocal warmups, or Andy systematically stripping clothes off while he furiously air-drums. They each have their pre-show rituals.

Granted, Pete's rituals usually don't include orgasms, but all things considered with Patrick seemingly teleporting eveywhere, he figures he should cut himself some slack. He's been pent up for almost a month now. 

He leans his head back, his grip tightening a little. He starts to relive an amazing night he had in the summer, when the tour first started. 

He'd met her at a bar just off the venue they'd played. She was short, reddish-brown hair, pale eyes. She didn't give a shit who he was. Pete knew she had to come back with him.

He'd spent some time with his lips between her legs, running his tongue up under her clit hood, slipping it inside her just to taste her while she came. 

He starts to feel it, the aching tension traveling up his shaft from his balls, when the man of the hour comes striding into the bathroom.

Pete jumps, scrambling to preserve his decency even though he's in a stall, and Patrick can't even see him. 

"You almost ready, dude?" Patrick calls to him, "It's about time."

Pete looks down, seeing his cock twitch, drip onto the floor. He seriously can't believe Patrick right now. He's so close it's making his teeth hurt.

"Almost," he grits out, and he hears Patrick hum in acknowledgment. Hears him fixing his hair in the mirror. He's not leaving anytime soon.

Pete feels a wall break inside him. Fine. If Patrick doesn't want to leave, then he'll just have to put up with a show.

Plus, if Pete stops now, he's probably just gonna end up coming on stage the minute his dick presses up against the back of his bass anyway. 

Part of it is motivated by revenge, he knows, as he licks his palm, letting his head fall back with a sigh, hearing Patrick freeze while the slick sounds of Pete getting off echo across the walls.

Pete feels triumph bloom in his chest at that. He lets a low groan rumble out of his throat. Patrick can take that for not letting Pete have a moment of peace for weeks on end.

It's silent for a minute, amplifying the obscene noises Pete's making. 

"Are you serious?" Patrick says, voice strained, "We have like, a minute left." 

"Yeah, well, I'd get off faster if you'd shut the fuck up," Pete snarks back, smiling at Patrick's indignant huff. 

"It couldn't wait? Really?"

"Uh, no? Jizz-pants aren't really in my best fashion interests."

He's so close, arousal mixing with the humor bubbling up in his chest. His cock is flushed with blood now, almost maroon. It's kind of scary looking, actually.

He's standing on that knife's-edge, and he can't find the inspiration to pitch him off of it until-

" _Pete_ ," Patrick pleads, voice crackling a little and that's it.

"Oh, _fuck!_ "

Pete doesn't even bother stifling the words when he comes. He even moans a few times. Let the little tyrant hear what he's been denying Pete. Pete wants him to hear it.

He hears Patrick's sharp intake of breath, and it sends shock waves up his shaft while he pumps his fist. Pete files that reaction away to be over-analyzed later; nothing is stopping him from this pleasure right now.

The feeling's so unexpectedly strong it leaves his thighs shaking. Jesus.

He cleans up after a moment, wiping his sweaty forehead off too, for good measure. He takes a few deep breaths. 

It's so worth it to see the look on Patrick's face when he comes out to wash his hands. Pete wonders if he knows his lips turn white when he's surprised. 

"Okay, I'm ready," Pete says, purposely nonchalant just to rile Patrick up some more. But when Pete turns to face him, his next comment escapes him. 

Patrick's shock has given way to something else. He doesn't look frustrated or even disgusted. He's looking at Pete with badly-guarded eyes, pupils strangely big considering how bright the fluorescents are. His upper lip is beaded with sweat. 

This would usually be the point that Patrick would start acting grossed out, start ribbing Pete for being a pervert. Pete waits for it, shuffling through his usual comebacks, but there's nothing.

They both stand staring at each other. Pete's heartbeat speeds up a little.

He's just about to make a comment, diffuse the tension, but before he can, Patrick turns and swiftly leaves the room, walking a little awkwardly. 

Pete stands there, bewildered, before following when he hears Joe and Andy's voices add to the chatter in the hallway. 

All weirdness of that moment is momentarily forgotten heading up the darkened stairs to the stage. Pete can smell the sweat already, feel the heat from the lights and the bodies.

The kids are screaming, creating such a wall of noise that Pete has to stop his body from taking a few steps back on instinct. He hears the pre-recorded intro, and it's like time slows down to focus on the details.

Pete feels Andy let out his breath in a warm whoosh across the back of his neck. Joe's limbs are vibrating with excitement and nerves along his side. Pete feels his toes curl inside his shoes.

He and Patrick meet each other's eyes, and, with a determined smile, Patrick takes the first step out onto the stage.

Pete's right behind him. 


	3. Burning Rubber (s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're not talking about it. Pete wants to bridge their still-recovering communication gap, but Patrick seems reluctant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, conflict and tension. The essential part of my torture-methods for all my characters (don't worry, it's not too bad.)
> 
> Side note: I just had to include a Colorado scene, since I grew up there, and I still live there (I think Andy would like it) :)

_Vancouver. Salt Lake City. Denver._

It takes Pete three more cities before he works up the nerve to talk to Patrick about what happened in California.

At first, he's not even sure there should  _be_ a conversation. He argues with himself that it was a fluke: you can't fault a man for the way he acts before he goes onstage. Pre-show jitters are a very real thing. 

But then, Patrick's never acted that way before. Even during the good ol' days when they all lived practically on top of each other, and jerking off in less-than-private spaces was the norm. He always grabbed his headphones, left the room if possible. 

He never stayed. He didn't...stand there and _listen_ , for God's sake.

Patrick acts completely normal, and it makes Pete think he's either applying meaning where there is none, or that he's being fucked with. 

It's a little hard to tell these days.

Coming back together in a relationship, you have to learn each other all over again. And bands are a sort of weird polyamory based around a common goal: music. 

Pete relearned their bad habits, and double-meanings, and the way they sound when they're asleep versus when they're just in their bunk, ignoring everyone. 

They're all outside some dinky little gas station in the Rockies, made up to look like a wood-cabin, stretching their legs while the bus gets filled up.

It's dry as all get-out up here, and Patrick comes out of the station with a half-gallon of water in his hand. He takes a few gulps before sharing with Joe. 

Pete catches Patrick's eye for a minute, and Patrick's gaze drops. The little bubble of happiness in Pete's stomach deflates. 

Pete walks to the edge of the mountain roadside (no guardrail to stop his plummet into those trees below) and gazes out at the forest blanketing the mountain. It's beautiful, he admits, all green leaves and bright blue skies, even as windy as it is today.

He imagines the winters up here would be hellish. Even right now, in late June, there's a brisk edge to the breeze. 

Pete feels Andy before he sees him join him at the edge. 

"I can see why people retire up here," Andy's voice is soft, reflective. 

Pete nods, "You'd have your work cut out for you when it snows, though." 

Andy's quiet for a moment, taking in the view, stretching his arms up over his head, sun hitting his tattoos and lighting them on fire with color. 

"Are you and Patrick okay?" He asks finally. Pete can see his eyes flick over to him under his sunglasses. 

Pete considers playing the tension off, but he's learned a lot time ago that no one can really bullshit Andy. 

"I don't know," he says truthfully, "We just need to, like, work some things out, I guess."

"That's what's good about places like this," Andy comments seemingly randomly, still talking as he walks backward to the bus.

"Clears the air, you know?"

Pete catches the way Andy's eyebrow twitches at that. Pete bites his lip thoughtfully, casting one last glance at the trees before he follows him. 

They're heading to Kansas City now, and Pete's in the lounge, doing his best to settle in for the evening. Andy's already gone to his bunk, and Joe is clattering around in the kitchenette, making a grilled cheese and Skyping on his laptop. 

Pete watches his face light up when his daughter greets him, her round baby-face way too close to the camera.

Hearing Joe coo at her makes his chest ache. He misses his own babies so badly. He doesn't get to FaceTime nearly as often as he'd like. 

Patrick's writing down snippets of lyrics next to him, the sound of his pen scratching along calming Pete's nerves at what he's about to say. 

"Hey, Trick?"

Patrick's pen doesn't slow down, but he glances at Pete.

"Yeah?"

"You remember Sacramento?"

Patrick's pen stops.

"Yeah, I do. It was a good show, you know?"

Pete shakes his head, turning his body a little to face Patrick.

"That's not what I'm talking about."

"Then what are you talking about?" Patrick's voice is clipped. He looks irritated. Pete knows the feeling. 

"You know what I'm talking about. The bathroom?" 

Patrick has a hard time getting his expression under control for a moment. 

"What about it?"

Pete glances at Joe, eating facing his laptop, still chatting with his family. 

"The fact that you, like...listened to me," Pete begins in a low voice, "That you didn't just, I dunno, get up and leave?" 

Patricks face flushes, "You didn't give me much of a choice, Pete. There was, like, one bathroom and you were banging one out whether I wanted you to or not, you know?" 

Pete feels his neck heat up. He knew this conversation was going to be a pain.

"You know that's not exactly what happened. And not, like, what's _been_ happening."

"Well, then, enlighten me on what's _been_ happening," Patrick snaps, sarcasm seeping into his voice, "because I'd really like to know."  

"I wasn't able to jerk off in peace for, like, a month leading up to that," Pete challenges, "And you know why."

A mortified look flashes across Patrick's face. Pete waits for him to explode, because that's the way these things have always worked for them. 

Two (hell, four really) strong personalities in a van, and now a single decker tour bus, stuffed in together for months on end. It's bound to make anyone a little crazy.

But Patrick doesn't. He sighs, reaching up under his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.

"Look, Pete, I...I don't want to fight with you. I'll give you more space if you want. But we need to get used to each other again. We agreed to work harder this time. I just don't want us to fail again, you know?" 

He looks defeated. Pete knows he's remembering all the stupid fights they had in the early days. How belligerent Pete could be. 

Pete's anger evaporates. He doesn't want that either. He realizes that if he has to sacrifice some "self-love", for the band to actually work together again, well, his dick could take a raincheck for now. 

Patrick rubs at his bare ring-finger absently while he talks. Behind him, Joe is talking excitedly with Ruby about her art project. 

Pete knows he and Patrick are in the same divorcee boat right now. Elisa and Patrick had split up even more recently than his own breakup. Patrick was still in the process of filing for divorce. 

He'd confessed to Pete a few weeks into the tour that he'd surrendered full custody of Declan to Elisa for now. He didn't want his baby growing up in the instability that was touring and recording. Pete still hurt for him. 

"Pete? I-I do know what you're talking about," Patrick says unexpectedly into the silence, "I just...I don't know, okay? About you and me. Ever since Elisa and me...I don't know anymore." 

And he leaves the lounge with that cryptic message. Pete's never been more confused in his life. What did _he_ have to do with Patrick and Elisa? 

"What the fuck does that mean?" Pete says out loud, to no one in particular. 

"It means you're a dumbass," Joe quips suddenly, around a mouthful of cheese.

Pete can't help but agree with him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you done goofed that one up, didn't you boys?  
> Haha this was a long one, but I loved every minute of it :)


	4. Touching Through Screens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head for Patrick as Pete just tries to keep his head above water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ones a little more Patrick centered but I needed to move his arc along :)  
> This turned out way more angsty and pining than I intended, but I promise it's going to be okay. 
> 
> Thank you for all the feedback on this story!

Pete's frame shakes with Andy's kick drum. He lets the rhythm rattle his chest like a second heartbeat. He doesn't want to feel his own. 

They're playing for St. Paul, nearing the end of the set. Patrick's belting out _Saturday_  and if Pete's being honest, he can't wait to be finished. The crowd is wonderful, but he didn't have enough energy to mentally prepare for them, and now he feels like he's suffocating.

Pete claws himself up the notes while his ears ring with Patrick's voice.

He's singing Pete's name in the second chorus, and Pete feels every molecule of himself react. Even now, it calms him to hear his best friend screaming his own secrets through a microphone.

Pete walks slowly toward Patrick, sidestepping and keeping his head down while he plays.

He feels Patrick's energy reaching for him. Pete's own body sings back, but he can't look at him. 

 _Remember Pete,_ his father had told him, so long ago now, _don't ever look directly at a solar eclipse. It can blind you._

The show finally ends. They exit the stage, grabbing water and towels from the dressing room on their way out to the parking lot. It takes Pete's hands a few hours to stop trembling once they're all back on the bus. 

He doesn't know what's going on with Patrick. Life is a constant routine of travel, unload, play, reload, travel. Pete's wearing thin.

Patrick's pulling away, and Pete has nothing to lean on now, like that road in Colorado. Nothing to stop his plummet over the edge. 

It was easier before, in a way. Back when things weren't as complicated between them. Pete got used to to pretending that he never felt anything for Patrick, that the tension between them meant nothing.

The bus is hurdling across the highway, and everyone's milling around, trying to disperse the post-show adrenaline. Andy's Facetiming his girlfriend, Meredith, and Joe is making coffee in the kitchette, chatting with Patrick, who's sitting on the counter. 

He still doesn't understand what Patrick had meant, about he and Elisa, and that thought had settled in the back of Pete's mind, turning sour. They both needed that friendship, that support, especially since the tour was ending now. 

He never consciously realized that Patrick was his rock during tours, his creative center. He could always count on Patrick to wind him up or down depending on what was needed. Pete feels the absence like a pulled tooth. 

Patrick's voice, low in the background, turns serious. Pete glances over his shoulder. He and Joe are still talking, quieter now, and Patrick nods at something Joe says, and then hops off the counter, walks away toward the back lounge area.

Joe eyes Pete for a moment, then grabs a mug, fills it with coffee, and hands it to Andy over the counter, squeezing his shoulder and smiling.

He grabs his own coffee and walks over to Pete, flopping down next to him on the couch. 

"Go talk to him," Joe tells him, regarding Pete over his mug, "He needs _you_ right now, dude."

Pete senses danger at the emphasis Joe put on that. He feels Joe's eyes follow him as he gets up, steels himself.

He finds Patrick in the back of the bus, alone. He's leaning back against the table, staring into space. 

"Hey," Pete says softly, not wanting to startle him, "You okay, man?"

Patrick's motionless. 

"It's done. This morning," he tells Pete, finally looking up into his eyes, "The divorce went through."

Pete doesn't know what Patrick needs from him. The truth was that he didn't know the details of Patrick's divorce.

Pete was the best man at their wedding. He always looked at them and thought they were in it for the long haul. He knows Patrick probably better than anyone, knows he's always been a private person. 

Looking into Patrick's red-rimmed eyes Pete's suddenly afraid that he doesn't really know Patrick at all. The break from each other changed them all. He's afraid it may have changed them _too_ much. 

Before Pete can decide whether to play the sympathy angle or the "Screw her, I'm getting you drunk" angle, Patrick pushes off the table, strides toward him and presses his body against Pete's. He feels Patrick's fingers curl into the back of his shirt.

Pete instinctively ducks his body down to fit Patrick in, his ribs and hips sliding along Patrick's bones, right into place, like they belong there.

Pete reaches up, cradling the back of Patrick's neck, holding him as close as he can. Patrick feels like a familiar stranger, his body's changed, but it's like home still. 

"Why don't I feel anything?" Patrick mumbles into his shoulder brokenly, and Pete swallows, closing his eyes and letting Patrick sink into him even further.

He wants to keep Patrick there, feel the blood rushing around his veins, the steady thrumming. Pete's pulse answers, blocked by skin. 

"It's a coping mechanism," Pete replies robotically. It's the same thing his therapist told him, a lifetime ago. He knows it won't help, but it's the only thing he can think of to say. 

Patrick's breathing stutters. Pete rocks him a little, side to side, a fatherly habit, he knows, but he's out of his depth here. 

"What do you feel?" Patrick asks, low, like he didn't mean to say anything at all. 

Pete's quiet for a moment, then he answers truthfully, figures he might as well let Patrick strip him down to his soul. He's got nothing left. 

"You."

Pete's ribs move up and out with Patrick's, skipping in rhythm. Then Patrick's pulling away, taking the warmth with him. He doesn't go far though, still toe-to-toe with Pete. A few tears are clinging to his lower lashes, turning them into points. 

"I'm sorry," he's wiping at his eyes, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, like, dump that all over you." 

Feeling the wall coming back up, Pete catches Patrick's wrist gently in his hand, feels the pulse between his fingers. 

"You're fine. Seriously." 

"I'm not," Patrick replies, shaking his head at Pete's protests, "Pete, I'm not." 

Pete's chest twangs with hurt at his tone.

"You will be. Trust me. It sucks, but you're strong." 

"No I'm not. I'm the weak one, you know? I left _her_." 

Pete wasn't expecting that. From the few things Patrick said, he figured Elisa had been the one to walk out. 

"Why?"

Patrick drops his gaze, leans his body away just a little. 

"I loved her, you know? We'd been together for so long. But I couldn't lie to her."

"Oh man, you didn't cheat on her did you?" 

Patrick huffs a little in surprise, sniffing.

"...not physically."

He looks up, seeing Pete's confused frown. 

"I've been um, _thinking,_ I guess. About someone else." 

"Who?" Pete asks.

Patrick meets his eyes. His gaze is watery, and he's pleading silently with Pete and for some reason Pete's mind flashes to those lyrics he wrote before:

_Trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns..._

And it clicks. Stupidly, Pete wonders how it didn't before.

Joe's right, he is a dumbass. 

And suddenly Pete can't do anything. Can't make himself move or speak. And there's Patrick, begging him to understand without saying a word.

"You're serious?" Pete's voice chokes out, and his voice sounds fuzzy, far away. 

Color blooming across his face, Patrick nods, once.

"But you never...with guys," Pete says dumbly. He knows that between them none of that matters. 

"Not _guys_. You." 

Pete feels that one word steal the breath from his lungs. 

"So-so that's why you were..."

"Yeah. It's just...you. Your sounds. Honestly, they make me crazy," Patrick confesses, looking Pete dead in the eye.

Patrick's going in for broke now because Pete has him cornered. Pete can almost hear the bulldozer crashing against that wall. 

"And I didn't leave back in Sacramento because I...I wanted to hear them. I wanted to _cause_  them."

Pete's midriff swoops at that.

"God, Pete, I-I'm sorry," Patrick says, "You're my best friend. I don't want to ruin that, you know?"

He sniffs, furiously wiping at his eyes again, "If you're gonna go, can you just do it quick?" 

His expression reminds Pete of those criminals he saw in his political textbooks in college, walking to the gallows, determined in the face of death.

It's the face of a man who thinks he's about to lose everything.

God knows, despite the old days of Pete kissing him onstage, and hanging all over him, and trying desperately to get close to him, Pete never expected Patrick to do anything about it.

The whole world thought they were fucking most the time, because of Pete's stupid crush spilling over, and it always made Patrick so uncomfortable.

So Pete closed it off, let it harden into scar tissue. He would get off with their albums on shuffle, fuck people who looked like Patrick, turn them around and imagine, Patrick's name right there in his mouth when he came.

Coping mechanisms. Yeah.

He'd gone so long without poking that bruise that he stopped noticing it was even there. And now with this, he was black and blue again. 

Pete doesn't know how to express it in words. Any previous linguistic talent he had is shot down in that moment.

They're already so close, breathing each other's air. All Pete has to do is open his mouth and taste Patrick's lips. But he doesn't. Not this time. 

Instead, Pete gently slides his hands along Patrick's jaw, leans in, and presses his lips, softly, softly, against the corner of Patrick's mouth.

Pete feels Patrick's wet lashes brush against him as his eyes close. He feels his warm hands reach up, encircle his wrists, squeezing a little.

Pete tastes the small, shaky puff of air from Patrick's lips before he pulls away. He doesn't miss how Patrick sways forward a little, chasing him. 

Pete wraps his arms around Patrick again, presses himself against his body, chest to chest. Pete knows he could kiss him properly right now, use his body to stroke the hurt away, make him feel good, but he can't.  

Pete wants to do this right, slow, and Patrick's too raw from today for Pete to take advantage like that. 

" _Pete,_ " Patrick chokes out, like he did back in Sacramento. It's completely different now.

"I know." 

They stay there for a while, just holding onto each other.

"We need to sleep," Pete murmurs, and Patrick nods, letting himself be led out of the room. 

It's nearing midnight and they're laying in their bunks, stacked one over the other in the righthand aisle, Joe and Andy breathing in tandem across from them. 

"Night Pete," he hears Patrick whisper above him. 

"Night Trick." 

Pete tries something then, something they haven't done since the old days. He reaches slowly outside the bed curtains, up over his head, touching the bottom beam of Patrick's bunk.

He closes his eyes, smiling when he feels their fingers brush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was emotionally exhausting. I promise next chapter won't be as angsty haha


	5. Highway 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's new and exciting, and Pete is trying to be gentle. Pete's just pretty sure Patrick has the opposite in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to convey a sense of vulnerability and newness, while also balancing the established friendship these two have. 
> 
> I also feel like while Pete gets more of a flirty reputation, it'd be Patrick hiding the sauciness (He can't fool me, I've listened to Soul Punk.) 
> 
> In short, writing is hard :)

Patrick is sitting next to him at the table, serenely jotting down lyrics. Pete watches him, laying back against the wall of the booth.

The bus purrs under them, making good headway to St. Louis now.

Pete has his leg folded under him and Patrick's thigh is warm against his knee. Pete draws circles on his own jeans there, trying to resist the urge to touch.

Before, Pete would have draped himself all over Patrick without a second thought. Neck kisses, ass slapping, nothing seemed out of bounds when Pete thought it didn't mean anything. 

Now it means everything. It feels fragile. Considering Pete's track record, he's treading carefully. 

Two more cities before the tour is over. Pete refuses to think about what will happen then. His joy-deprived brain clings onto the happiness here and now. 

The news is on, the evening weatherman gleefully confirming that Pete's sweaty lower back is because of the 90 degree weather. The sun is hanging low, peering in the bus windows.

Andy is sitting on the couch, grumbling at the TV and fanning himself with an old copy of _People Magazine._  Joe has the right idea, napping away away the heat, his head resting in Andy's lap. 

Patrick, a sweaty little dude on the best days, is suffering, he tells Pete while he fans his shirt out.

Pete teases him like he's supposed to, but he stares at the glimpses of Patrick's chest and _wants_. 

Patrick, more perceptive than Pete gives him credit for, leans over and now Pete's suffering too. 

"You can touch me, you know."

His voice is quiet, so Andy doesn't hear. He sounds calm, like he's chatting about the lyrics he's writing down.

Now that he's got permission, Pete doesn't know where to start. He doesn't move at first so Patrick does instead. He grabs Pete's hand, squeezing his fingers lightly. 

Pete is too old to be feeling this giddy at just holding hands. It's stupid, he thinks as he laces their fingers together, palm to sweaty palm. He's grinning at Patrick and it's so, so stupid.

Patrick continues writing like nothing's amiss, but Pete can see his hand grip his pen a little tighter.

Patrick looks at him again, bites his lower lip, and it's like a pipe bursts.

Pete lets go, runs his hand up the back of Patrick's wrist to his arm. He traces freckle to freckle like he's hanging a clothesline between them.

Patrick keeps scratching away with his pen, but he's smiling.

Pete glances at Andy, who's talking on his phone now, then sits up. He makes his way up Patrick's shoulder to the back of his neck. He feels goosebumps erupt across Patrick's skin. 

"Hey," Andy says suddenly, startling Pete. He drops his hands quickly. Patrick snorts at Pete's panic. After all, Andy and Joe have seen far worse.

"Yeah?" Patrick replies.

"We're stopping off in Troy to fill up. We're almost there." 

"Okay."

Andy looks thoroughly unimpressed, as expected. 

Pete jumps when he feels Patrick's hand on his thigh. He keeps writing, his fingers running up the inside seam. 

They stop at a BP, the little corner store attached proclaiming itself to be "Victory Lane" in faded lettering.

The crew pulls up behind them in the other bus, piling out and stretching. The number on the pumps start to tick upward. 

Joe, rejuvenated from his nap, is scouting the aisles inside for snacks. Some crew guys are airing up their tires, chatting with Andy.

Pete and Patrick stand outside in the falling dusk, leaning against the back of the bus.

It's a small town, Pete surmises. There's a little sign advertising for the "Troy Movie House" next to a sign calling for churchgoers this Sunday.

It has its own charm, away from the lights and skyscrapers Pete's so used to.

"I almost can't believe we're back," Patrick says into the stillness. Crickets answer him from across the road. 

Pete looks at him, standing there with one leg over the other.

Patrick has his sunglasses and hat on, his shirt blowing around in the muggy breeze. A decade plus three years, and Patrick's still here with him. 

Patrick sighs contentedly, resting his head back, watching the sunset. Pete feels something in his chest open. 

_I love you. God, I love you._

"Right? It feels like, I don't know...Like a lifetime ago that we started." Pete says instead. 

Patrick's mouth twists up at the corner, "Remember when you broke your foot at Voodoo?"

"Yeah, 'cause I jumped off that stupid speaker?" 

Patrick starts giggling, "I couldn't believe you. Like, you just got up and kept going, you know?" 

Pete beams at him, "Well yeah. I couldn't leave you guys hanging, could I?" 

Patrick chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. Pete can see his eyes under his glasses, pale with sunlight.

It throws his face into relief: his freckles, the little fine lines he's getting around his mouth.

Patrick presses himself against Pete's side. 

"I'm glad you're here with me," he says warmly, "I'm glad we're...us, you know?"

Pete bumps Patrick with his hip, smirking.

"Me too, Pattycakes." 

Patrick scowls at the old nickname. He looks up, sees the look on Pete's face, and starts to crack up.

Pete couldn't stop himself then if he tried. 

He turns, leans down and swallows Patrick's laughter. It cuts off as Patrick gasps.

He tastes like sunshine. Golden. 

Patrick freezes, and Pete turns gentle.

He opens his mouth, lightly sucks Patrick's lower lip between his own, testing the waters.

_I need you. Please, please..._

Patrick _melts._

He reaches up and grasps Pete's neck, turns so suddenly that Pete stumbles a little and falls against him, pushing them against the back of the bus. 

They snicker at the ungainly position, then Patrick's kissing him again, deeper. Their noses bump and their teeth click and it's perfect.

Pete's lips part and it's hard to keep kissing when he's smiling but he gives it a valiant effort. 

The wind snakes through the sun-baked grass, a little cooler as night starts falling around them. 

It's quiet enough to hear Patrick's breathing, the sounds their lips are making.

Pete lines their bodies up. He puts one hand against the small of Patrick's back and pulls him in closer. 

Patrick bucks his hips a little, making Pete groan. He pushes back, not even noticing he's hard until he finds that Patrick is too.

He rubs his length along Patrick's, feels him pulsing there, blood-hot. Patrick sucks in his breath sharply at the feeling. 

_That's it, baby. Let me in._

Pete opens Patrick's mouth with his own, slips his tongue inside, pulls away to rake his teeth along his lip.

Patrick's hips stutter. He moans.

The blood is rushing rapidly out of Pete's head, and he needs to get one thing straight before he can't think at all. 

It almost kills him, but Pete pulls back a little. The last thing he wants to do is destroy this by going too fast. 

"You sure?" He asks.

Patrick stares steadily into his eyes. He looks more comfortable than Pete's seen him in a long time. 

"I've been waiting for you since I was seventeen," Patrick admits, a shy smile lighting his face.

Pete kisses him softly, once. 

"Really?"

"Yeah. It just took, like, uprooting my whole life to realize it, you know?" Patrick tells him, "I mean, I was depressed for months after you got married. I thought it was just, like, post-album blues."

Patrick pulls Pete in for a moment, nipping at his lower lip softly, teasing him.

"Turns out I just didn't want anyone taking you away from me," he finishes, breath heating up Pete's mouth. 

_I'd get down on my knees for you, right now. Show you I'm yours._

"Just tell me you're sure," Pete pleads softly against his mouth between kisses, "I don't want to ruin this. I can wait for you."

Patrick huffs a little, turning a conspiratory smile on Pete.

"I'm sure, Pete. About all of it," he says, "And with everything that's happened...I know now."

Pete has to take a deep breath to slow his heart-rate.

Patrick continues. "I know what I want and I...I'm tired of waiting, you know? Aren't you?"

_Yes. Jesus Christ, yes. I was born ready for you._

Pete's about to lean in again when-

"Come on! Back in the van, we've got road to burn!" 

Pete and Patrick jump at Joe's words ringing across the parking lot. Pete hears Joe say something to the crew, their laughter echoing in the empty space. 

"I have candy!" Joe sing-songs, his voice getting closer.

Pete makes a mental note to kill Joe later. He rests his forehead against Patrick's, sighing. His lips are tingling. 

_I want to grow old and die here. I don't want to leave you._

"Come on, he's gonna come back here if we don't move," he says reluctantly, pecking Patrick on the lips a few times, slow.

Patrick pries himself off Pete like it's the last thing he wants to do. He reaches down to adjust himself, ignoring Pete's cackle. 

"Hiding the evidence?" Pete asks, quirking an eyebrow.

Patrick playfully shoves him, making him laugh harder.

"Its your fault, asshole."

Pete thinks for a moment and re-ties the plaid shirt around his waist, making sure the sleeves cover his own little problem. Patrick snorts. 

Rounding the corner, they almost crash into Joe. He's laden with plastic bags, looking like he bought the whole corner store. 

"Jesus!" Joe yelps, "Scared the hell outta me!"

"Yeah, well, you're the one creeping around back here," Pete tells him, taking one of the bags. He grabs the two packages of Hi-Chews despite Joe's protests, throwing one to Patrick. 

"Oh come on! Andy already absconded with the Twizzlers!" Joe whines. 

Pete hears Andy chortle darkly from inside the bus. Patrick pats Joe's shoulder with a mock-solemn look on his face, ripping his Hi-Chews open with one hand and winking at Pete. 

Pete's gleeful, energetic. He slows down and throws an arm around Joe's other side as they walk.

Back on the bus, Joe heads to the lounge, rotating his wrists a few times, subconciously starting to warm up even though they have an hour's drive left. 

Pete watches Patrick fiddling with a wrapper, and something about him licking the sugar off his lips makes Pete's cock remind him painfully that he's still semi-hard.

Pete waits until the others are settled in with _Ghostbusters_  a few miles out before he steals his way to the bathroom, pleased no one seemed to notice. He wants to take care of himself before they arrive and have to start unpacking. 

Two minutes later, he's got his fly open, shirt rucked up a little, cock in his hand while he strokes slowly, playing his and Patrick's kiss on repeat behind his eyelids when the door to the bathroom opens. 

He startles, about to cover himself and tell-off whoever came in (even though he forgot to lock the door like an idiot), when he sees who it is. 

Patrick walks in and closes the door behind him. He leans, cool-as-you-please, against the back of it, folds his hands behind his back.

Pete's bewildered, still holding his cock, furrowing his brow at Patrick. 

"Do you mind?" Pete asks.

"Not at all," Patrick shoots back, his eyes twinkling. 

"I'm kind of, like, in the middle of something here," Pete tells him, fighting a grin. 

"Tell me to leave then."

Pete doesn't. At his silence, Patrick smirks. 

He looks calm, confident. _Soul Punk_ did wonders for him, Pete muses, brain a little foggy.

Patrick looks up at him, his pupils big and dark even from across the room. 

"C'mon, Petey," he says, raising his eyebrow and flashing a grin.

Patrick may be a little more raunchy than he appeared in public, but aside from that, his image was accurate: Patrick was a gentleman.

He would leave if Pete really wanted him to. 

Heat spreads out across Pete's pelvis. He can feel his cock swell, get a little wet at the tip.

Asking Patrick to leave is literally the last thing on Pete's mind.

Pete wants to show him, wants Patrick to see what he looks like when he comes. 

"I won't touch you," Patrick adds in a low, deep voice.

Pete's cock drips onto the tile, and Patrick's eyes flicker to it. He licks his lips before he continues. 

"I just want to watch you." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All aboard the smut train, toot toot!
> 
> Okay, the amount of research I did for this chapter is so ridiculous. I searched travel times, archives for weather patterns, favorite candies (including vegan ones for Andy) and I took a lovely Google-Maps trip to Troy, MO. Yes, that gas station is real, and it is called "Victory Lane" haha


	6. Singledecker Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tour is ending, barriers are broken, and Pete and Patrick are about to get way more personal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahead so beware! Haha just kidding I know you guys have been waiting for this :) What can I say, I'm a major tease.

_I just want to watch you._

Pete swallows. Patrick's words echo in his mind. He doesn't have room for anything else in there right now.

He crosses his arms, grabbing his shirt at the bottom and slowly pulling upward, turning to face Patrick.

Patrick hums a little at that, like a growl, and Pete feels himself twitch. 

Despite what the world seems to think of him, Pete's not really a show-off in the sexual sense. He had been devastated when his private pictures had been leaked. It had taken him a long time to be able to go out in public without feeling exposed. 

But with Patrick leaning back on the door, gazing at his cock with heavy lids, Pete wants to give him a show.

Pete's never had any reservations with showing Patrick his inner workings, emotionally and creatively. Baring his body is nothing to compared to that. 

Pete throws his shirt on the floor before going for his jeans. He leaves them on, but peels them down from his hips a little, giving Patrick a good view of him. 

Patrick's blushing and his arms are flexing a little. Pete knows he's fighting to keep his hands behind his back.

The bathroom is small enough that Pete can sink back against the wall opposite the door, and still be tantalizingly close to Patrick.

Pete feels the same nervous heat in his belly as when he's onstage. He meets Patrick's stare, raises his hand and lets his eyes fall shut for a moment as he licks up his palm slowly. Patrick lets out a shaky breath at that.

Pete smiles a little as he wraps his hand around his cock, teasingly. He runs his fist up to where he's getting slick, drags the wetness down over his length, making it shiny.  

"Oh God," he hears Patrick murmur weakly.

Patrick brings his hands out from behind him to grip his own thighs. He's hard, cock straining against his jeans.

Pete feels like a work of art under Patrick's intense gaze. Patrick had always joked about Pete being the "pretty one", and for about the first time, with Patrick's eyes on him, he feels like it. 

Pete lets his head fall back, stroking himself harder, faster. He spreads his legs a little, giving himself room to work. He's well past his teenage years. He knows he's got enough self-control to control the pace of this, work with Patrick's reactions. 

Pete can hear the muffled sounds of the movie in the next room, knows he needs to keep this relatively quiet or they could get caught. Somehow, that thought turns him on more. 

Patrick is curling his fingers into the fabric of his jeans, and Pete twists his wrist a little like he knows he likes, arching at the feeling. He lets a groan come out of his mouth, and Patrick looks like he's dying. 

"Pete, oh God, I can't..." Patrick utters.

Pete can see the switch in him flip. Patrick pushes himself off the door, strides forward. Pete, reflexes quicker, meets him halfway. There's no way he's letting Patrick have all the fun here.

He puts his free hand out, stops Patrick in his tracks. 

"Nuh-uh," Pete purrs, walking forward.

"You. Stay. Right. Here," he punctuates every word with a step forward, pushing Patrick back against the door. 

Pete can see Patrick's knees buckle a little. 

"Please," Patrick whines softly, and Pete's lips curl in a smile as he shakes his head.

"You wanted to watch, right? So watch," he tells Patrick, backing up just a little and bracketing Patrick with his free hand.

"No touching."

He's stroking fast now, and Patrick, trying to resist, puts his hands to the side, clawing the door.

"Fuck, you're awful," Patrick complains.

He's sweating, eyes blown out black. Pete feels the drops of sweat on his own chest. He can't blame him.

"Yeah, but- _ah_ ," Pete doesn't even bother stifling his moan, "You wouldn't have me any other way."

The room feels humid, sticky. This is easily the sexiest thing Pete's ever done, and he's not even touching Patrick. 

Pete feels his stomach bottom out, getting close. His cock is dripping steadily, and Patrick struggles like he doesn't know where to look first.

"You're so sexy. Jesus," Patrick mumbles, reaching a hand up to wipe his upper lip.

Pete gasps, bowing his body a little closer. Patrick digs his nails into the wood of the door, fighting himself.

It's driving Pete crazy to watch him: he wants to open Patrick up, get inside his mind, find out what he's thinking right now. 

Thankfully, Patrick's helpful.

"Wanted this...for so long, God Pete, baby, please. Show me, baby, come for me, c'mon," Patrick's rambling in lieu of being able to touch.

Pete can feel himself run right up to that edge at that voice, all shattered and husky. 

"God I want you, wanna taste you, wanna get on my knees for you, fuck Pete, come on," Patrick says, his own body arching toward Pete's. 

"Oh God,I'm gonna-"

Pete cuts his words off, remembering at the very last second that he needs to be quiet. He hears Patrick suck in a breath, hold it.

Pete's abs clamp tight, and his cock throbs with a shock of pleasure-pain, and then he's coming on the floor between Patrick's open legs, throbbing out what seems like a flood.

His system surges with pleasure and relief, shocking out along his nerves, and he's biting his lip, letting little noises out from his throat. The muscles in his legs quake. 

Pete's vaguely aware of Patrick's hand moving to his front. Patrick lets out little panting gasps that send quivers of pleasure along Pete's skin.

"Oh my God," Pete pants, slowing his strokes as his brain starts to clear again, no longer white-hot. 

Patrick tense, his face furrowed. He's got the heel of his hand pressed hard to the base of his cock. Pete takes a few deep breaths, his heart beating like a wild thing in his ribcage. 

He takes in Patrick's strained expression. 

"Did you...?"

"Almost. Jesus...almost." 

Pete feels his chest swell with pride at having that effect. 

Patrick exhales slowly out of his mouth, dropping his head back onto the door. His lips quirk into a smile suddenly, and he chuckles weakly.

"I'm too damn old to almost be coming in my pants," he says, rolling his eyes at himself.

Pete laughs with him, leaning over and grabbing a towel. Patrick watches him clean up with a goofy little smile on his face. Pete tucks himself into his pants, tosses the towel on the ground between them to clean there too until he's satisfied no one will kill him tonight for stepping in jizz.

"Well, I'm too damn old to be this crazy about you," Pete tells him, straightening up. 

Patrick reaches up, slides his hands up Pete's chest, curling his fingers behind his neck. Pete reaches up to playfully bop his nose, leaning in for a kiss. 

_This, however, will never get old._

Patrick draws Pete's lip between his own, running the tip of his tongue across the skin. 

"I could get you off too, you know," Pete mumbles between kisses.

_My hands, my mouth, God, I don't care how, just let me-_

"I think the movie ended," Patrick replies. 

"So?"

"So? You know Joe's tiny bladder is going to want in here." 

Pete pouts a little, "But-"

"I'm not saying no," Patrick assures him, and Pete's heart skips a beat.

"I'm just saying we should like, move this party to the bunks, or something." 

Pete nods, cracking into a wide smile. Patrick opens the door, leading the way. Pete grabs his shirt off the floor on the way out. 

They mill around in the little hallway, straightening their hair and clothes so they don't look like a mess.

Right on cue, Joe comes in, brushing past them on the way to the bathroom. Pete purses his lips against a grin. 

Andy's not too far behind. He eyes them curiously. 

"Hey," he says, "You guys missed the movie."

"Yeah, um," Patrick explains, "Pete wanted to work on some songs before we get there."

Andy nods, "That's cool."

He checks his watch. 

"We've got about twenty minutes." 

"Awesome."

Andy smiles, "Its gonna be great tonight." 

They agree, watch him gather his things from under his bunk and head to the back. Joe comes out of the bathroom and stretches, following Andy to prepare. 

"Twenty minutes, huh?" Pete says, and Patrick's mouth twitches. 

"You know you need to get ready too."

"Oh, I'm ready." 

Pete pushes Patrick into the bottom bunk, kneels down in front of him. 

"And hey, there's always soundcheck," Pete says.

He pops the button on Patrick's jeans, pulls back. He smooths his hands down Patrick's thighs.

"Show me," Pete whispers. 

Patrick fumbles for a minute, pulls his cock out, hesitates.  

As a rule, Pete isn't a big fan of cocks in general, even his own, but this is different. He's so far gone for Patrick he'd be into whatever he's working with.

Patrick's cock is all flushed pink with how wound up he is. It's thick and pretty and the tip is so smooth Pete feels his mouth start to water. 

Patrick starts stroking, and Pete sits back on his haunches, feeling his knees go weak.

"Patrick, God, you're so..." Pete can't even finish his sentence.

He feels like he's drowning. He wants to watch every second of this, wants to burn it into his memory forever. 

It takes Patrick about five of those twenty minutes before his strokes falter, his cock twitching. He comes, pulsing out wet and messy down his length, and it's the most beautiful thing Pete's ever seen.

Pete groans quietly, and Patrick's face scrunches, tremors running through him under Pete's hands. He brings a fist to his mouth quickly, bites down to keep from making noise, riding the aftershocks. 

 _I would do anything you wanted me to, tonight, every night._ _Have me, I'm yours._  

It's so hot Pete thinks his tongue might be swollen. His own cock jumps in his jeans, trying to get hard again even though he's past the point in his life where he has that kind of refractory period. 

"Christ," Patrick says, breathing heavily, coming down from his high.  

 _I want you so bad. I love you, God, I love you with everything I have._  

"Feel better?" Pete asks, biting his tongue against his thoughts. 

Patrick smiles, maneuvering carefully to the bathroom to clean up. Pete sits on the bed, watching Patrick straighten himself up for a few minutes. He starts to feel the bus slow under him.

"We're here!" Andy shouts to them from the other room.

Patrick throws the towel in the little hamper, stands against the doorway. Pete takes a deep breath, sliding into that mental zone that's calling to him. Showtime. 

They arrive at the back entrance of the venue, flowing into action right when they hit the ground.

First their own soundcheck, then a break before they go on so their openers can prepare. The crew is unpacking, shouting orders to each other while they haul the sound equipment and instruments in.

It's a gorgeous night, calm and clear. The stars look so far away here, Pete muses, as he grabs his own equipment.

He hears Andy laughing with the crew, and Joe's trekking to different stations, settings things up. Pete looks behind him, watches Patrick. He's doing his first set of vocal warm ups to some old crooner song. It makes Pete nostalgic for everything and nothing at all.

Its like putting on armor to watch them, his fellow musicians readying themselves just like he is. Pete's always loved them all, loved this life, and hes grateful for the comradery that comes from being on tour. 

Patrick falls into to step with him, squeezes his fingers. They approach the doors.

The venue employees have beverage stations set up just inside for them. Pete takes a bottled iced coffee from one of them, thanking her.

"Break a leg," she tells him, beaming. 

Patrick joins him after a minute with a paper cup of hot tea. It smells like honey. He's got a copy of the setlist in his hand, and he sips, studying it for probably the hundredth time. Andy's behind him, grabbing a bottle of water, his in-ears already in place. 

Pete thinks back to a time when they all would roll into venues, unwashed and sleep-deprived, some of them skipping soundcheck, chug a Redbull and play the show. 

Now they're taking steps to bring their A-game every time. Like Patrick cutting out dairy on show days because of what it does to his vocal chords, or Joe only drinking alcohol after they've finished for the night. 

_This is good for me. This is good for us._

Pete lets the others catch up. He throws an arm around Andy, softly brushing Patrick's wrist with his fingertips on his other side.

This amazing life they created together had dragged Andy out of a deep depression, remade Pete completely. It had taken them around the world, given them a goal to work for, to sacrifice for. He was glad they decided to come back. 

"Two more cities, boys!" Joe crows, throwing his arms up.  

Pete grins, joins in their cheers, ignoring the way he feels heavy all of a sudden. He follows them out to soundcheck, fighting down the pang of loneliness threatening at the edges of his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, my first smut scene in a long time :) But soon it's back to reality for our boy's summer romance...  
> Hope everyone enjoyed!  
> And stay tuned! This is a slow burn, after all.
> 
> Side note: I'm thinking I'm going to make the smut scenes pretty much their their own chapters, because I'm a sucker for foreplay and scene-setting.


	7. Come Apart, Break Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tour is over, and everyone is parting ways, ready to get on with their lives until the next event. But what about Pete and Patrick?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I thank you guys a lot on here, but really, thank you all so much for kudoing and commenting, and even just reading this. I love to refresh the page and watch the hit counter go up.  
> Coming back to writing feels amazing, and I'm grateful for everyone who's supported me!  
> Okay, enough mushiness haha I'll save it for the chapter :)

_St. Louis. Indianapolis. Nashville._

The next shows fly by. Before Pete can blink, it's over. The final show of the tour for this leg.

He knows they've already planned a long few legs yet, but he's ridiculously worried about the breaks between, even though he knows logically that they need them. He feels like he's just barely getting a hold of the rhythm again, only to be cut off. 

The guys are calling a wrap already, talking about what they're going to do on their much-needed breaks.

_I'm being stupid. It's just a month. Calm down. Breathe._

Pete knows he's being irrational. It's not like it's the end of the world. They all needed this, but he can't help but feel afraid. What if this was it for them again? What if they didn't want to come back?

What if Patrick didn't want to come back?

Pete watches Joe talking on his phone, telling his wife and daughter he's coming home soon. He's holding one arm over the other, like he's trying to hold them. Andy is sitting at the table, texting someone. "Kill Bill" is playing low on the TV in the lounge. 

Pete's Facetiming with his own babies. Their sounds help calm the dread. 

"How've you been?" he asks Meagan, sees her smile a little at the question.

"Good. Bronx is out of school now, so it's easier," she replies, keeping her tone polite. 

"That's good," Pete says. He watches her rocking Saint, thinks back to a time when that image used to pull at his heart. It's late there, way past Saint's bedtime, but he begged Meagan to see them both. He's been away from them since May. All the miles and shows and people make it seem like much longer. 

"See? Your daddy's coming home soon and you'll get to spend time with him," he hears Meagan say, her image blurring out on the screen for a minute while he turns the phone to Bronx next to her.

Pete feels his chest just about burst with love for his boys. He feels intensely grateful to Meagan. Even though they didn't work out in the long run, he knows she's a great mother, and he loves her a little for that alone. He's glad they had a good foundation of friendship to work off of: he's heard the horror stories of ex-wives from a lot of the crew members. 

"Dad," Bronx exclaims, "You'll be home for the summer right?" 

"For a little while, buddy. I've got a month off with you two."

Bronx grins wide, and Pete can see he's lost another one of his baby teeth. Pete feels the hole in his heart tear open a little wider. He smiles back, listening to Bronx talk about his summer plans with his friends from school, and tries not to feel like he's cheating his son out of a childhood with a father.

Meagan tries to stifle a yawn, and Pete knows he should let them go to bed. Hell, he should go to bed himself. 

They say their goodbyes, and Pete ends the call. He can still hear Bronx's laughter in his head. 

He glances over to the couch, and catches Patrick watching him.

Patrick looks away quickly, typing on his laptop with a smile on his face. Pete pockets his phone and walks over to join him. 

"You okay?" Patrick asks when he sees the look that must be on Pete's face. 

"Yeah," Pete says, stretching out his arms in front of him, "I just miss them." 

Patrick nods. Pete knows he empathizes. Pete had seen Patrick light up while Skyping with Elisa and Declan earlier. He had touched the screen when Declan had started fussing.  

"I feel like my dad," Pete mumbles, "He was, like, always working hard too. Long hours."

Patrick keeps typing, readjusting to scoot closer to Pete. 

"Don't do that to yourself," Patrick says, "You have to keep your goals in mind too, you know?"

"My kids are, like, growing up right in front of me. And I'm not there," Pete says mournfully. 

"You will be. The tour isn't forever."

"No, but we-this...band _is_ ," Pete stammers. He knows Patrick is leaving for Chicago in the morning, staying there for the summer. Pete's not sure how they're going to work this out, or if it'll work in the long-run being so far away from each other. 

Patrick falls silent at that, types something down quickly, his face concentrated. His mouth purses strangely, like he's holding back a smile.

Pete hears the tinny sound of Ruby's laughter out of Joe's phone behind him, Joe's own low chuckle joining her. He looks down, notices a thick white envelope in Patrick's lap.

"What's that?" 

Patrick stops typing, clears his throat. 

"Court documents."

Pete stares at Patrick. His fingers hover over the keyboard for a minute.

"I'm due in court on July 15th. I'm-Elisa and I-are negotiating shared custody."

Pete's flooded with a sudden image of Patrick, rocking Declan to sleep in a little bachelor-pad in Chicago. Raising his baby, alone. It makes Pete's heart ache. 

Pete sighs, rubbing his eyes. He's weary. Patrick glances at him.

"Get some sleep," he says, clicking on a link Pete can't see the words on. Pete nods, standing up. 

"Night Trick," Pete says.

Patrick looks up, blue-white light illuminating his face.

"Night Pete."

Patrick pushes his glasses up with a sweater-covered fist. It makes Pete's heart wobbly.  

Pete heads to the bunks, reaching out to squeeze Joe's shoulder on the way past. Joe keeps talking on his phone, flashing Pete a quick grin. 

Pete strips his shirt off, climbs into his bunk, alone, and closes his eyes. The bus rumbles under him, shaking the twinges out of his muscles. 

He dreams of wet lips, feathery hair in his fingers. He's chasing parts of someone, bits of soft skin slipping through his grasp over and over until his hands are empty. Till he's touching nothing but smoke. 

In the morning, waking groggily to his phone alarm going off next to his head, he doesn't remember it at all. 

* * *

They land in L.A. at the studio early the next morning, their rendezvous point before they head out their separate ways. The sun is glowing fierce orange, looming between buildings. They file out silently. Everyone is tired. Everyone is thinking about their breaks. 

Stepping off the bus feels like a weird rebirth. The city is already warm around him, welcoming. Seagulls are squawking, fighting over who gets to eat from a pile of trash in the parking lot.  

Pete looks at everyone unpacking their things, and his caffeine-drenched system surges with nerves, wracking him. It feels like saying goodbye for good all over again. He knows that they still have two more legs of the tour planned, but he can't help himself. 

Joe's family is there, pulling up in the parking lot after a few minutes. He beams, watching them file out. Marie glides to him, Ruby in her arms. She's looking at him like he personally hung the sun in the sky today. They embrace, Joe's voice going high-pitched while he showers Ruby with kisses. Pete rubs his empty ring finger. 

Joe turns away for a moment, his face radiant. He tells Marie to go ahead to the car, that he'll be there in a minute. He walks to Andy and Patrick first, hugging them, before bringing Pete in for a hug. 

"Take care of yourself," he murmurs in Pete's ear. He smells warm, familiar.

"I will," Pete assures him, pulling away and smiling, "See you in a month." 

Joe nods, waving as he walks to his car. 

Pete jumps as a horn nearby blares. He turns to see Meredith pulling up, watches Andy's shy smile as he shoulders his bag. He strides over to Patrick and Pete, pulling them both into a two-armed hug. 

"See you guys," he says. 

"Have fun in Milwaukee," Patrick replies. 

Meredith leans out the window, her pale skin glowing in the sunlight.

"Get in boy! We're gonna miss our flight!" she yells playfully to Andy, laughing when he power-walks to her. Andy kisses her deeply through the window, grasping her face. He packs up, holding up a hand to Pete and Patrick.

They wave back as he gets in. Pete can hear the car vibrate with what sounds like the beginning of "Silent Scream" before Meredith pulls out, blasts off toward the freeway. The car leaves a small puff of black smoke behind. 

It's silent now, the light breeze already warm around Pete's arms. He's heading to Meagan's soon to pick up the boys, take them to the house he was able to score right after he and Meagan called it quits. He thinks they'll like it: it's even got a little pool in the backyard.

Patrick is watching him now, waiting for his rental to get here. Pete's own ride is due to get here any minute. Management had arranged for a few of the interns to retrieve the cars from the airport. They were a godsend sometimes. 

"So," Pete starts, keeping his tone light, "You up for Skyping over the summer while you're in Chicago?" 

He turns to find Patrick staring at him steadily. His heartbeat picks up, but he doesn't know why. 

"I'm not staying in Chicago," Patrick replies slowly. He sighs, shuffling his feet before continuing. 

"I'm going to Elisa's. To get my things. Then after the court date..." he begins, seeming to choose his words carefully, "Pete, what I said before? I meant it."

He reaches out, grabbing Pete's hand, intertwining their fingers. Pete presses close to him, rubs Patrick's knuckles with his thumb. 

"I'm sure. About all of it," Patrick continues in a low voice, and Pete feels very warm all of a sudden.

"You're just about the _only_  sure thing in my life," Patrick admits, "You've always been there. You're my best friend. And I'm, like, head-over-heels, let's face it."

Pete feels a thrill rise in his throat.   

"Where are you staying?" Pete asks.

"I was planning of just staying at my little place. For now, you know?"

Pete knows Patrick set up the house a long time ago. In truth, because of work being here, he spent most of his time there anyway. Pete feels giddy at the "for now", a million possibilities running through his head. 

"But you love Chicago," Pete says. He wants to make sure this won't make Patrick unhappy. That's the last thing he wants.  

"Yeah. Chicago is always gonna be home. But there's...too many bad memories there now, you know? Plus, my work is here," Patrick tells him, then locks eyes with him, "You're here. And the band isn't, like, the only thing I'm willing to sacrifice for."

Pete feels his heart swoop. 

"I mean, if you'll have me," Patrick adds quickly, looking shy, "If you'll be with me...then I'll come back." 

_Marry me. I know that's crazy, but please say yes. I'll get down on one knee right here-_

Pete reaches up to rest his hand on Patrick's cheek, stroke near his jawline. 

"That's not even a question. You have me," Pete whispers to him, "I'm yours."

Patrick lets out a weak laugh, sounding breathless. Pete can hear a car approaching the parking lot, probably Patrick's rental.

Pete rests his forehead against Patrick's, feels like a balloon is swelling in his chest. 

_I want to do all these stupid things with you. I want to shop for fucking kale with you at corny healthfood stores. I want to take you to the beaches here and hear you bitch about your intolerance to sun. I want make love so loud we get a noise-violation._

They pull apart as the car turns into the parking lot. Pete doesn't recognize the driver, but notices that he tactfully ignores Patrick and Pete's clasped hands. Patrick lets go, meeting the driver halfway to get the keys. Pete can hear the guy telling Patrick his flight is taking off soon. He watches the guy walk to the door of the studio, unlock it and disappear down the hallway. 

Pete walks over to Patrick, hugging him tightly, feeling Patrick breathe him in. Pete knows Patrick has to get going soon if he wants to beat traffic on the way to L.A.X.

Pete's running out of time. 

_I want to taste horrible wedding cakes with you. I want to play rock-paper-scissors in the dark to see who has to wake up with the babies. I want to dance with you in my underwear in our kitchen at six in the morning._

The sun feels hotter now, blazing across his back. Pete reluctantly lets go when he hears Patrick's phone alarm go off. Patrick reaches into his pocket, silences it.

_I want to make you laugh, every day, until I die._

"That's my cue," Patrick says, smiling tightly. Pete nods, backing up to let Patrick unlock the car. Pete holds the door open for him.

Patrick's just about to get in when he freezes. He turns instead, reaches out and grabs Pete by the collar, pulling him around the door. He pushes his lips hard against Pete's. 

Pete kisses him back desperately, licking lightly into his mouth, files away his taste in his memory. 

"I love you," Patrick breathes against his lips.

It's like the world cracks open. Everything goes quiet with the rushing in Pete's ears. Someone lets out a quiet whimper, he thinks it might be him. His heart is pounding as Patrick pulls him into another blistering kiss. 

"I love you, and I'm coming back." 

_He loves me. He's coming back. To me. Oh God, I love you too, I love you, I love you-_

"I love you too," Pete says, and it's like a dam is breaking.

"God Trick, I love you. I want to, like, order pizza with you and rub aloe on your sunburns and shop for cabinets and take you to dinky little coffee shops-"

He's rambling and he knows he sounds stupid and mixed-up, but he can't stop.

Patrick chuckles, silences his monologue with a kiss. Patrick's mouth curves into a smile against his own.

Pete tries to block out the sound of what must be his own rental car pulling up, holds Patrick's face in his hands, kissing him back. 

"We'll do everything," Patrick assures him when he pulls back a little, "All of it. All that dumb stuff, I don't care. As long as it's with you, I don't care." 

Patrick pulls Pete into him, and Pete feels his heart beating through his shirt. The driver of Pete's rental gives a polite little beep, and they separate.

Pete walks over to take the keys, thanks the kid, watches him saunter off toward the studio, another intern ready to start working for the day. Pete fumbles with the keys while he walks to the driver's side door, throwing his bag into the backseat. 

"Don't have too much fun in Chicago," Pete says and he can feel a goofy grin spread across his face. Patrick laughs, the sound like a melody. 

"I'll see you soon," Patrick says, making no move to get into his own car. 

Pete caves first, getting in. He closes the door, latches his seat belt. He glances out the passenger side window. 

Patrick's standing there staring at Pete, his hair fluttering with the breeze, his mouth cracked in a huge smile. He's gorgeous.

It takes an effort on Pete's part to turn the key in the ignition. He knows this is a necessary evil for Patrick to be able to move to L.A. 

_Near me. With me._

He looks behind him, starts backing out. He pulls out and stops, waving a little to Patrick. He waves back. Pete smiles to himself. Right before he pulls out onto the freeway he glances at the rear-view mirror. 

Patrick's watching him leave the parking lot. His smile is gone, and his right hand is on his chest, over his heart.

It takes everything in Pete not to turn around then. He pulls out, taking the car up to speed.

Pete cruises, arm resting along the open windowsill. The sky is blazing, lighting up the glittery grit in the asphalt, the eye-wateringly bright colors on the buildings. He can see the tall palm trees in the distance to his left. The sidewalks are shimmery with the rising heat, already full of shoppers and business people, gray-faced and rumpled looking, pushing past each other. A car blares their horn at him, and he grins. He can smell the exhaust in the air mixing with the faint briny smell of the ocean. 

He stops for a red light. His phone buzzes where its resting in the cup holder, flashes a text across the screen.  

**_From Patrick: I love you. 17 days. I'll be there._ **

Pete doesn't think L.A. has ever been this beautiful. 

_He loves me._

_He loves me._

_He loves me._

_And he's coming back._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I drew this fic out way too long, so I'm ending it here. Thank you!
> 
> Yes, I know that Saint was born later in August, and Declan wasn't born until October, but I took some creative liberties there since I wanted them to have their boys already since they're divorced from their partners. So Bronx is correctly five, Saint is a few months old, and Declan is little bitty. 
> 
> In hindsight, I probably should have set this story during the AB/AP tour, but as it stands I think it's solid and it doesn't really matter when it's set specifically. If it really bothers anyone, you can just pretend I didn't screw up and that they're on the right tour haha
> 
> I set the rendezvous point at Ruby Red studios in Venice, California, which is where some of Save Rock and Roll was recorded. (Credit to my native Californian mother for helping me out!)


End file.
